Hadji Murád rode slowly along followed by the Cossacks and by his henchmen. They rode out along the road beyond the fort at a walk. They met women carrying baskets on their heads, soldiers driving carts, and creaking wagons drawn by buffaloes. When he had gone about a mile and a half Hadji Murád touched up his white Kabardá horse, which started at an amble that obliged the henchmen and Cossacks to ride at a quick trot to keep up with him.
‘Ah, he’s got a fine horse under him,’ said Ferapóntov. ‘If only he were still an enemy I’d soon bring him down.’
‘Yes, mate. Three hundred rubles were offered for that horse in Tiflis.’
‘But I can get ahead of him on mine,’ said Nazárov.
‘You get ahead? A likely thing!’
Hadji Murád kept increasing his pace.
‘Hey,
Hadji Murád looked round, said nothing, and continued to ride at the same pace.
‘Mind, they’re up to something, the devils!’ said Ignátov. ‘See how they are tearing along.’
So they rode for the best part of a mile in the direction of the mountains.
‘I tell you it won’t do!’ shouted Nazárov.
Hadji Murád did not answer or look round, but only increased his pace to a gallop.
‘Humbug! You won’t get away!’ shouted Nazárov, stung to the quick. He gave his big roan gelding a cut with his whip and, rising in his stirrups and bending forward, flew full speed in pursuit of Hadji Murád.
The sky was so bright, the air so clear, and life played so joyously in Nazárov’s soul as, becoming one with his fine strong horse, he flew along the smooth road behind Hadji Murád, that the possibility of anything sad or dreadful happening never occurred to him. He rejoiced that with every step he was gaining on Hadji Murád.
Hadji Murád judged by the approaching tramp of the big horse behind him that he would soon be overtaken, and seizing his pistol with his right hand, with his left he began slightly to rein in his Kabardá horse which was excited by hearing the tramp of hoofs behind it.
‘You mustn’t, I tell you!’ shouted Nazárov, almost level with Hadji Murád and stretching out his hand to seize the latter’s bridle. But before he reached it a shot was fired. ‘What are you doing?’ he screamed, clutching at his breast. ‘At them, lads!’ and he reeled and fell forward on his saddle-bow.
But the mountaineers were beforehand in taking to their weapons, and fired their pistols at the Cossacks and hewed at them with their swords.
Nazárov hung on the neck of his horse, which careered round his comrades. The horse under Ignátov fell, crushing his leg, and two of the mountaineers, without dismounting, drew their swords and hacked at his head and arms. Petrakóv was about to rush to his comrade’s rescue when two shots – one in his back and the other in his side – stung him, and he fell from his horse like a sack.
Míshkin turned round and galloped off towards the fortress. Khanéfi and Bata rushed after him, but he was already too far away and they could not catch him. When they saw that they could not overtake him they returned to the others.
Petrakóv lay on his back, his stomach ripped open, his young face turned to the sky, and while dying he gasped for breath like a fish.
Gamzálo having finished off Ignátov with his sword, gave a cut to Nazárov too and threw him from his horse. Bata took their cartridge-pouches from the slain. Khanéfi wished to take Nazárov’s horse, but Hadji Murád called out to him to leave it, and dashed forward along the road. His
* * *
‘O good Lord! O God! my God! What have they done?’ cried the commander of the fort seizing his head with his hands when he heard of Hadji Murád’s escape. ‘They’ve done for me! They’ve let him escape, the villains!’ cried he, listening to Míshkin’s account.
An alarm was raised everywhere and not only the Cossacks of the place were sent after the fugitives but also all the militia that could be mustered from the pro-Russian
After riding some miles along the high road Hadji Murád checked his panting horse, which, wet with sweat, had turned from white to grey.
